you may still be here tomorrow
by cryptic rose grunge is dead
Summary: series of parentlock for elfluxcapacitor on tumblr because WE NEED SEASON 3... AND JOHNLOCK so heres some hamish for you :D its sorta sad at some parts... sorry :3, but i have fluffyflufffluff coming i just suck at life and left it on my laptop, which is currently in a mystery location... BUT I WILL FIND IT FOR YOU!
1. there was a time before you

Sherlock Holmes never wanted a family. Ever since he was a child all his did was hold him back. He distanced himself from them. He didn't need them. He _refused_ to need them. He built a shell, and drove people away until there was no one left. He was never sorry about it. He was never sorry about anything actually. Mrs. Hudson was the first to dig herself a hole in his barrier, she would poke her head in from time to time to check that he was still there. Still breathing. The second to worm his way in was Lestrade. How? Sherlock still wasn't sure.

And then there was John.

John-Bloody-Amazing-Watson. Who called him brilliant. Who would always get the milk. Who wouldn't freak out at a gruesome crime scene. Who was warm and safe and truly lovely. Who kissed him breathlessly in the freezing rain, and then pushed him out of the path of a bullet, with no regard for his own safety. Sherlock found himself caring about John in a way that he had never cared about anyone else before. John broke down all his barriers like they weren't even there, maybe for him they weren't, and for the first time in his life Sherlock wanted somebody to stay with him. John. His John. He would do anything to keep him happy. To keep him from leaving. So on a quiet winter night, in front of a lovely fire, when John suggested they have a kid; despite Sherlock's own inner torture and selfish needs, he reluctantly agreed. How could he deny the one person who ever cared about him at all? He secretly –well I say secretly- hoped that it would be John's child. A sweet blonde boy or girl who would be clever and independent and loving. Eager to learn from them. John hoped it would be Sherlock's DNA that their child possessed. It soon became apparent though, when the chosen surrogate possessed long black hair and sharp features that the detective (sorry: _consulting_ detective) wouldn't get his wish. Perhaps it would be a lovely blend of the two of them, a perfect mix. It was not so. Naturally, the universe was set in its ways to never give Sherlock Holmes what he desired.

Their son was born with dark curls that were in stark contrast with his deathly pale skin, and crystal blue eyes that shone almost grey. There was no doubt in anyone's mind who the father was, no matter how hard or thoroughly you searched, there was not a single Watson feature on the boy. Sherlock couldn't say that there wasn't an intense ache of disappointment in his chest cavity, where his heart was said to reside (although most would argue that he didn't poses one) when he saw the child for the first time. His husband cradled him against his chest, the tiny head of curls nestled where Sherlock's own head used to be. This boy was stealing John away from him, and they had only just met. Then John looked over to him, almost teary-eyed, and asked if he would like to hold their son. _Their_ son. Hamish Malcolm Watson-Holmes. Sherlock hesitated for a moment, resentment still fresh in his blood, but gave in at last when John smiled gently and kissed his cheek in understanding. Sherlock knew that if he hated the child that John seemed to love so much, he would almost be hating John. And he couldn't have that. Once the tiny bundle lay in his arms it became real. It became Hamish. He felt a twinge of something not unfamiliar in his chest, he felt regret. Not for having the boy, no. It was for cursing the boy with his genes. He knew how it felt to grow up an un-loved freak, and he would never want to condemn any living form of life to the same fate. No matter how much he cared for this child, he would never be able to love him like a normal family could. And for that he was sorry. He was so, so sorry.


	2. and there was a time before me

~He lives in you, he lives in me. He's watching over everything we see.

Into the water. Into the truth. In your reflection. He lives in you.~

John sat in his husband's chair trying to read a newspaper. After two years Sherlock's scent was slowly fading away, although it still lingered faintly on the embroidered surface of the union jack pillow. "Daddy?" John closed the oversized paper with a rustle and looked up at his son as the small boy toddled into the room clutching the left foot of his teddy bear. He never went anywhere without that thing. Sherlock gave it to him...

"Hey Hal, everything ok?" John gave the paper another fold and placed it onto the floor next to his chair. When did it become his chair? Hamish nodded his tiny curls bouncing_. He looks so much like you. _John thought. _I wonder what you would think if you saw him now._ The boy stuck his thumb into his mouth and looked at John with huge eyes.

"Why don't I have a mummy?" He asked suddenly his eyes full of wonder. It took John by surprise and he was almost certain he heard the boy wrong.

"What?" John stuttered, hoping that he had just asked for a cuppa or even a puppy.

"Why don't I have a mummy? The other kids in my class said that it's weiwrd to not have one. Did I evewr have one?" _He has the same look in his eyes whenever he asks a question._

John sighed and pressed his lips into a thin line. Well he hadn't expected that one. Of course Hamish had only been two when Sherlock... "C'mere." John patted his lap, and the tiny Sherlock skipped over and climbed onto his dads lap, lugging his bear behind him.

"Well Hal you do have a mummy..."

"Are you my mummy?"

"What? No Hal I'm..."

"Then I don't have a mummy." Hamish nodded seriously. John laughed lightly and pulled his son closer.

"No, you don't really... you did have another daddy once though..."

"I did?"

"Yeah... You did." John said with a faint reminiscent smile.

"Why don't I now?" _'Why' it's his favorite word, you'd be proud_. John sighed. He knew this day would come.

"Well Hal ummm... He... He isn't here anymore..."

"Where'd he go?" Hamish demanded. John bit back tears.

"He... he..." Hamish didn't wait for him to answer, instead he fired another question at him and John had the strange feeling that he was in one of Sherlock's interrogations.

"Why did he go?"

John sucked in a deep breath, "If only I knew Hamish..."

"Did you love him?" John almost threw up with emotions, he wasn't sure what he was feeling right now. Everything? Nothing? This child, this wonderful, amazing, perfect child... He couldn't even.

"I did... I still do Hal." Hamish tugged at the ear of his bear, relishing the texture on his fingertips. He turned his gaze back to his dad.

"And he loved you I assume."

"Sure hope so." John chuckled lightly. "You don't remember him at all?" Hamish shook his head solemnly and looked towards the ground feeling suddenly nauseous.

"Will he ever come back?" The child squeaked.

"Don't think so love... I'm sorry." John reached up quickly to smudge a burning tear back into the contours of his worn face. Hamish whimpered quietly as he chewed on his bears nose. He pulled his son into a tight hug. "We can go see him... Sorta... but you have to be brave ok?" Hamish nodded once and made no other reaction. They sat in silence for a while, the emptiness flooded Johns mind, and instead of feeling a sense of peace, he felt like he was going to go mad. _Sherlock is this what happened to you, is this how your mind felt when you were 'bored'_? He wanted to scream and crawl out of his flesh.

"Will he be happy to see us?" Hamish said suddenly breaking the torturous bubble. The silence fell away when his question was asked. John nodded; more tears dripping lazily down his face.

"Yeah..." He choked out. " Yeah I think so."

...

Hamish fell asleep on the cab ride -despite it only being mid afternoon- his teddy still clutched firmly in one hand. He was nervous, John even ventured so far as to say he was scared. Nonetheless he was also excited, as all four year olds are when they are about to do something terrifying. John didn't want to wake him up yet. Once he paid the cab fare and gingerly lifted his son into his arms and out of the car he stood in front of the swirling magnificence of the iron gates and felt oddly unwelcome and insignificant despite visiting so often. He shook off the feeling immediately, took a deep breath and marched forward. _You even make this place look beautiful..._ There was a hush that fell over the tombs, a deathly silence that John was afraid to break. It was oddly serine under the tall oaks that guarded the souls of the dead. He walked absently by the rows and rows of stones, and even though he passed them almost every day, if asked, he could not produce a single inhabitants name. There was only one stone he cared about. One. Out of the millions of swirling marble masterpieces -honestly they were quite amazing despite their grim purpose- in this morbidly beautiful finality. He could walk this path blindfolded in the depths of the blackest nights... although he really didn't want to, and never would, he had the secret ability. Finally he stopped in front of the least exquisite stone in his whole walk, the flat black expanse of marble stared back at him with his own face. The only break in its pristine mirror-like quality were two words. Two wonderful, heart breaking words. They were the bane of John's existence. But they were also his whole life, his entire world. Sherlock Holmes. Hamish began to stir in his arms and John quickly shifted the boy so that he could wipe off his tears before his son could see them, he'd notice that his dad was crying no matter what. _He gets that from you_. "Daddy?"

"Hullo love, welcome back." He teased. Hamish looked around him in confusion.

"This is a cemetewry." He looked down the rows or meticulously kept gravestones, it was a pretty classy cemetery John had to admit. "Does papa live here?" Hamish was young, but he understood where this conversation was heading. He knew that his father was a resident of this place... permanently.

"Yeah..." John licked his lower lip, he always did that when he was nervous, Hamish knew that much. Why was he nervous? "You... you wanna meet him?" The boy nodded vigorously. "You have to be brave remember..." Again the muscles in his neck worked to mover his skull up and down in the universal signal of 'yes'. John swallowed the lump in his throat, well tried to, it seemed that as long as Sherlock stayed here, the inconvenient muscle constriction of his throat would not loosen. He crouched slowly, the stiff fabric of his jeans resisting further flexing around his knees, to lower his son to the ground. _Our son Sherlock._ The boy was out of his arms now, and John felt strangely empty. He watched as Hamish walked gingerly over the place where Sherlock lay to press one chubby, miniscule hand onto the cold marble. It was said that a gravestone was a reflection of the person lying beneath it, a last memory above ground before they rot away and turn back into earth. But that was not the case here. It would seem, to most people, that Sherlock was cold and dark, as his stone said. He hated those people. For they did not know his madman at all. Is that what you thought of yourself love? He turned his attention back to their son, who was running one tiny finger across the hollow etching that lay over his father. His heart clenched painfully. There were no words to describe his emotions, it seemed that happened a lot around the Holmses. He stifled a tiny pitiful laugh. Hamish was whispering now, probably to his unknown father, as his warm pink cheek was pressed into the cool unyielding stone. John suddenly realized that, that was all he knew about Sherlock. Hamish realized it too.

"Daddy?" He asked suddenly turning around to face him.

"Hmm?" John looked up from the bland dirt separating him from the man he loved.

"What was he like?" Hamish asked, the spark of intense wonder was back in his eyes, or maybe it never left it, John wasn't sure. Sherlock would know.

"Amazing." John grinned, his eyes had a faraway look to them. "He could tell your entire lifes history just by looking at you! He could solve crimes that would take the whole of Scotland Yard days to do, in an hour. He was the most incredible person I've ever met and... I..." John cut himself off, and tried to cover his emotions with a smile. Hamish pretended to go along with it.

"Wow." He picked up the teddy that he had long ago dropped in the dirt. "Was he a superhewro?"

"Maybe..." John giggled, "He did have the right qualities..." Hamish giggled too.

"So he's not wreally dead then!"

John laughed sadly, "No... not really... not completely" Hamish cocked his head to the side.

"He's a zombie?"

John laughed again "No Hal... what I mean is that you have a little bit of him in you..."

"WHERE!" Hamish started frantically searching, he knew that if they could find a living cell they could grow his papa back. Why did he know that? Whatever, he decided that he would grow papa and give him to daddy on his birthday.

"Not literally Hal!" John laughed even harder. He would not get into genetics with this child now. Oh if Sherlock were here he... John sighed, "I meant in here..." He rested one hand over Hamish's heart.

"Oh..." Understanding lit his eyes. "So in here too?" His tiny hand flew to the same spot on John's chest.

"Yeah..." A single tear dripped down his cheek. _He really is amazing you know... so you_. "He lives in you... and he lives in me... and he's a superhewro."

"He's alive in all that he loves..." John's voice hitched terribly on almost every word. Hamish leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him an attempt at comfort. John pulled him even closer and choked out a sob. Christ... Sherlock... why the hell did you leave us?! they held eachother for a few minutes in silence, but not an awful one this time...

"Whadid he look like?" Hamish questioned His dad's shoulder. John smiled gently and let the embrace terminate.

"Turn around" he whispered, Hamish obeyed.

"My papa was a wrock?" He squeaked incredulously. John laughed.

"Look closer love." The boy squinted his eyes.

"Oh." John bit his lip to keep from breaking down into sobs, that one word was so impossibly Sherlock. "It's me?"

"You look so much like him..." John's grin had a melancholy tinge.

"I do?"

"Yeah... that's good for you Hal he was gorgeous." John teased.

"Blech!" The toddler stuck his tongue out.

"Oh you say that now, just you wait!" Hamish giggled again. "I have pictures of him at home if ya..."

"YES!" Hamish started bouncing, it was just about the cutest thing that John had ever seen.

"Allright, allright, I get it, guess that means..." John grinned evily and scooped the tiny child up into his arms and swung him around. Hamish shrieked in laughter as John began to walk away.

"WAIT!" Hamish struggled out of his dads grip and back onto the soft earth. He raced over to Sherlock's gravestone and placed his teddy bear down in front of it gingerly. "For you papa." He began to toddle back to John, but hesitated, turned back around, and pressed his lips to the marble. "I love you." He whispered. And then turned to walk once again into the outside world.


End file.
